Cruise control
by son-of-puji
Summary: Lisa is on her much deserved holiday on a cruiser across the Atlantic. Of course, nothing turns out as planned but this time it isn't only her who is annoyed by this turn of events. At least, she makes sure of that...
1. Clingy past

_Lisa is on her much deserved holiday on a cruiser across the Atlantic. Of course, nothing turns out to be as planned but this time it isn't only her who is annoyed by this turn of events. She maked sure of that..._

**A/N: **I'm working on the plot of a longer RE fanfic, but in the meantime I wanted to get this out of my system. It's not as serious and emotion-analyizing stuff as my usual fics but hopefully it's not that bad either.

**Disclaimer: **Wes Craven isn't too intimidating but his lawyers surely are so hereby I state I don't own here anything.

* * *

**Cruise control**

**Chapter 1: Clingy past**

Blue, blue and blue. Up and down, around, everywhere. Dark, light, whitish, greenish, turquoise. To be honest, it was getting a little bit old by the fourth day. Lisa Reisert didn't quite know what she'd been expecting, if expecting anything at all, when she'd decided on this trip. Actually, since she hated flying, she didn't have quite a lot of options of vehicles but an ocean cruiser if she wanted to visit Barcelona.

And she really wanted to, even if she had spent the previous months with headstrong denial that everything around her was all right. She had been able to keep up the front exactly till one day she found herself coming out of unconsciousness on the floor right behind the counter of the Lux Atlantic, blurry faces of her colleagues looming over her. Denial had its own byproducts, she of all people should have known it: while through work or whatever activity she chose it could provide the much needed ignorance and a narrow-minded oblivion, the very fear of catching herself in the spontaneous act of _thinking,_ almost unbeknownst to her, compelled her to jump headfirst into the activity till it stressed her out to an actual unconscious state. She had gone through this before, marked and defiled, terrified and humiliated: work, work and work, and when she finally had the courage to go home, she watched movies and made scrambled eggs into late night just to spend as little time as possible in the much hated state when her mind was the most vulnerable and less controllable: namely, during the idle hours in bed. After the Red Eye flight - no, actually after that she felt victorious and bold -, after a phone call from a faceless police officer who had been working on the case she had learnt that Jackson Rippner was set free (no explanation on how and above all why, just a when in a very authoritative tone), all her newfound peace was thrown out the window. She would admit that she slept with various objects scattered around the bedroom floor, jingling, clinking, clattering objects like cutlery and Christmas bells and boxes of paperclips, whatever she could find so she would be jolted awake had anyone unwanted broken into the flat at night. She wasn't that much afraid of him as she should have been (it was more that she was angry with everyone responsible for letting him go after what she'd had to go through to hand him over to the police) but being caught off-guard wasn't a desirable prospect.

She had to admit, in the past few days on the ship, despite the swaying and surge of the water, she had the best sleep she'd gotten in the past two years. No constant glances back over her shoulder, no need for ridiculous objects for her homemade alarm system, no need to sleep with a hockey stick under the blanket.

She could literally see the dark circles subside under her eyes. After all, all she did was relaxing and tedious as it could get, it felt fabulous. The cruiser was enormous with maze-like corridors and a huge deck, all perfect for wandering around. She went to the spa every late evening when she was sure no one was there – she wasn't too comfortable in swimming dress around others, truth be told, she'd had to buy one before the trip because although she lived in Miami, after the hideous incident two years ago she wouldn't even think of wearing anything so small as a swimming dress (it was hell of a mission to find one that covered her scar because she wanted nothing less than explaining to strangers in what circumstances she'd obtained it). Fortunately, the cruiser seemed to be full of middle-aged or older divorced women who inclined to go to bed till midnight. The spa was fabulous; the green and blue lights illuminating the pools between the marble columns gave the premise a mysterious atmosphere. She especially enjoyed it the previous night when the ship got into a smaller storm and the swaying kept them being thrown around. She had actually laughed out loud as she got almost sloshed out of the pool when the cruise was most probably facing a particularly rough swell. It was fun, reminding her of old times with her father and brother, playing and being lifted out then hauled back into the ocean. So far she had tried all the different pools, plunge pool, therapy pool, Jacuzzi, sauna; she felt like a kid in a toy store.

In the morning she would let herself sleep in, nestle between the sheets and stretch like a lazy cat. Luckily, she brought a few books with her, so when she went up to the deck she had something to occupy her with. After the first day she had quite quickly enough of cruise talk, all the impersonal and trite questions about where she was from and if she had ever been to Europe, or if this one was her first time on a cruiser and why a young woman would travel alone. They bored her to the core, and truth be told, she wasn't too interested in other people's lives right now. She had her own fair share of meaningless polite talk (bullshit chatter, as Cynthia usually called it) at the Lux, she had no intention to reenact it on her much deserved holiday. So without better option, she put on her headset and read all those books she had been wishing to plunge into for months. She was already producing a nice suntan which was pretty ironic for someone living in Miami but beside work she never really had time or opportunity to bask in the sun. Dinnertime she would take her meal in the restaurant but make it quite short because the show during it was mostly pretty cheesy; she found the cocktail bar up on the deck more tempting (even if she had to fight off advances from men; she was in mood to be hit on) and the view with the open endless sky and stars was breathtaking. In the city she never had an opportunity to see the whole firmament in its beauty; the colors were deeper, the stars brighter and she was completely captivated.

After leaving Nassau, Bahamas behind a few days ago, all interaction with her family and friends (which had been actually limited to her father and Cynthia) came to an end. There was no signal to make phone calls and the bandwidth was hair-raisingly insufficient, immediately ruling out browsing on internet as pastime. Until they would reach the Canary Islands five days later, she wouldn't be able to contact them but, albeit a bit reluctantly, she realized she enjoyed her temporary freedom.

On the fifth day, she decided to stay in bed a little longer, not hungry enough to crawl out from under the blankets. Simply out of habit she turned on the TV but just as on the previous days all she could get was snow on the screen or FOX News. After a boring hour of news watching (new tax laws rejected by the Senate; some North Korean military issue; the impending exhibition of a lost and found Caravaggio in Rome; doping scandal of a basketball player), she dressed up, took her purse and rode the elevator up to the deck. In the café she had a cup of coffee with a cheese-cream bagel and sighed contentedly as the sun caressed her cheek. _Oh, dolce far niente_, she smiled to herself.

She skipped lunch due to the late breakfast, and headed back to her room to grab a book so she could easier avoid any tedious chatter with the other passengers. _I'm so antisocial_, she chuckled to herself while shuffling down the corridor to her suite. If she had any more analysis of her current behavior about to be born, it died a very quick death when she bumped into someone stepping out from a side-aisle.

There was a moment of exchange of apologies, then a moment of standstill and finally the moment of utter panic and surprise.

No matter how hard she tried to see things -him- differently (maybe it was just the light or the angle or the cheese-cream had been tainted and she was having visions, she guessed, no, _hoped_) but, in fact, there was no doubt the person before her looked very much like Jackson Rippner.

"You…" she blurted out incredulously and accusingly too, and without further thoughts and words she turned around and bolted for the elevator door. He was, however, faster and she didn't take two steps when he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. There was a creak and before she could start to puzzle her brains where the noise came from, she was shoved into a crumpled, dark room. As the light switched on and she was rewarded with the sight of the most eerie eyes she'd ever seen, she realized they were in a storage room, undoubtedly too small for her liking.

"Hi Leese" he stretched the syllables, menace and astonishment mixing in his voice. Her mind quickly flashed back to the restroom on that fateful plane, and had to fight back the memories, knees going rubberlike, but before she could grab a mop and pound at his head, he grabbed her by the shoulders. "Manners, Leese? Hello Jackson, it's so good to see you," he scoffed with a singing voice.

"What are you doing here?" she ignored his sneer, completely frozen in his grip. He didn't change much, his hair was cropped a bit shorter but other than that he looked just as she remembered him (and she offhandedly realized she remembered him very vividly). Her gaze dropped and did a double take at his clothes. He was clad in a white golf shirt and khakis, and she was stunned how harmless and unsuspicious he appeared without the tailored suit, exactly like someone on holiday. But he couldn't be, it was impossible, murderers didn't go on holiday like normal people – this idea was thrown back unprocessed by her brain.

"I need you to make a phone call," Rippner snickered and watched delightedly as her eyes darkened. "Relax, I was just kidding!"

He gritted his teeth in an effort to try to immobilize her again. He grabbed her arms and tightened his grip more than it was necessary, and he obviously reveled in seeing pain crossing her face.

"Holiday?"

Lisa pressed her lips together defiantly and didn't answer. She was still under the shock of meeting him here of all places. It was surreal, being inches from him among mops and plastic buckets and cleansing lotions. She felt the memories she had tried to forget so desperately uncoil in her mind and limbs. Mixture of fear and disbelief was washing over her, nailing her feet to the spot.

"Of course it is," he nodded to himself, looking slightly annoyed. "Travelling alone?"

Lisa lifted her chin, nostrils flaring and glared at him. "No."

He studied her face for a minute, blue eyes sweeping over her features, and she found it extremely uncomfortable.

"Lie. Again," he snarled angrily and suddenly she remembered how much he hated when she lied. She prepared herself for the unleash of rage but it didn't come. "You came alone."

"What are you doing here?" Lisa repeated impatiently, trying to elicit an answer. He hesitated, before pulling her closer and lowering his voice. His face was calm but his eyes moved over her face restlessly.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Lisa, I didn't even know you would be on this ship but if you do something silly… if you do something…" he shook her for emphasis. "I have to get you. You and daddy and mommy and Cynthia. Understood? I so much as see a uniform at the port during disembarkment, I call my associates and your beloved ones are gone. So keep your pretty mouth shut about me, no chitchat with anyone on board, no phone calls to the police or daddy, nothing at all. You leave this cabin and enjoy your trip, sunbath, swim in the pool, play the cards, whatever, and forget that we ever met."

Lisa gave him a sarcastic stare, clearly conveying that it was hardly anything she could easily ignore.

"I didn't hear you say you got it," he snapped.

Lisa clenched her teeth, and sent him a death glare before nodding. "Fine."

"Good girl. I'll keep an eye on you, for safety measure of course," he added intently, earning another dirty look, before she opened the door and fled the room. She didn't get far either this time for he grabbed her elbow and pulled her back to a window.

"Not that fast." He seized her purse and started to rummage about, suddenly pulling a pen out. His lips curled snidely, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Tsk, tsk. You won't need this," and with that, he threw it out the window. It disappeared in the waves.

Lisa sent him a triumphant look, her raised eyebrows clearly saying she thought him pathetic but Rippner either ignored it or didn't see it. A little more search and he retrieved her cell phone.

"No signal, of course, but to be on the safe side…" he pocketed it, and before Lisa could protest he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "You'll get it back when we arrive and I see you haven't done anything cute. Don't worry, when we have signal again, I'll text daddy that his little daughter feels just peachy."

"You jerk," Lisa hissed, completely appalled.

Rippner gave her an amused smile. "Thanks, I'm trying hard here." To her utter terror, now he had her key card in his hand, and taking a short look at its paper case (she made a mental note not to carry the paper case with her ever again), he dropped it back in the purse. "507. Now I know which room you're staying in, so behave, otherwise I have to drop by."

Without reply, she tore the purse out of his grip and trotted toward her room. This time he let her go.

She almost broke the door off the hinges, she was in such a haste to get in the temporary safety of her room. She could feel his eyes burning a hole in her back. She shut the door, bolted it and pulled a chair against it, propping the door up below the handle.

"Jesus…" a sound between a whine and a sob emitted from her throat and she dropped on the bed, perturbed and numb.

_How could it happen…? What were the chances…? Was he really…? Why was he…? What should she…?_

There were so many questions racing through her mind that she had no chance to separate them. She dragged herself to the bathroom and rinsed her face and drank some water, then lowered herself onto the floor.

"Breathe… try it logically…" she commanded herself but shuddered because it was something he would have said. She groaned, frustrated. Whatever reasons brought him on the ship, he wasn't here for her, that one was sure. His expression had been full of bewilderment, and even though he tried to pull on the expressionless mask Lisa had seen many times before, it clearly irritated him that he had to deal with her now. She tried not to reflect on why she thought she knew him so much, why she could read his face even when it seemed there was nothing to read there. With a sickening glee she realized she could see through the tiny cracks when his mask slipped: a twitch around his lips, a flicker of eyelashes – inwardly she gloated over this fact.

Suddenly she recalled a talk she'd had with Cynthia a few weeks earlier, embarrassed anew how she could admit all those things to her friend after a few drinks one night. Cynthia had asked her flat out why she was so keen on turning a blind eye whenever a man showed interest in her. She'd glared at the other girl, and with somewhat glazed eyes she'd blurted out:

"You have no idea what it's like. Every man I see in the street, in the hotel, every single one I meet… I try to find something they have in common with him. Anything. A gesture, a feature, scent, the fabric of their shirt, the way they talk, it can be anything. I'm searching for the trace of him in every man, not paying attention to anything else, not interested in anything else just the alarms that might go off if I found any." To her credit, Cynthia hadn't asked who she was referring to, maybe it was plain obvious.

"It's normal, Lisa. It's okay, you are afraid and cautious and mistrustful of men."

Lisa hadn't been _that_ wasted so she wouldn't remember how she had responded, and the memory could still color her face red. "You know what the worst is in this? That I don't know if I were repelled or interested if I found something in common. I don't know if I'm searching for it to stay away or because it's something I want in a man. How sick is that? Seeing him everywhere, in every man and I'm not sure it's only because of fear."

Groaning loudly, feeling overly ashamed of her past self she decided, after meeting him again, _it was_ probably fear. Or disgust. She'd had to be stupid even to question it but what had happened at the Tex Mex somehow blurred her judgment. The two men, the one at the bar and the other from the plane didn't match in her mind, she couldn't correlate one with the other no matter how she tried and it was confusing. And the part of her that had wanted it to work between them before the ordeal blossomed was still in search for someone like him. Yes, it was sick, now she saw it clearly.

Forcing her mind back to the current situation, she realized she had no reason and no means to defy him.

Since she was the mistress of denial, she figured she would just ignore him. The cruiser was huge enough to avoid him, and her life could only be better without partaking in some big brash plot. She decided, teeth clenched, hands balled into fists that she would enjoy her holiday. He had screwed up enough of her journeys, she wouldn't let this one be spoiled too.

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_A/N: Here nothing special yet, a bit of an introductory part, hope you didn't fall asleep;) Stay tuned._


	2. A wiggly tail

**A/N: **Thank you so much for your comments, they made me happy:)

To IseeButterfly: I don't think I've seen the movie 'Cruise Control'; I borrowed the title from an X-men: Evolution episode. I'm a HUGE fan of that series.

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**Chapter 2: A wiggly tail**

Actually, the cruiser didn't seem that huge anymore when next morning Lisa was trying to get to the restaurant, and jumped every time someone was coming around a corner or behind her. It felt like the ship was full of places where she could potentially run into Rippner, and suddenly it was like shut in the airplane again, nowhere to run and hide. She was sure he'd be there when she was waiting for the elevator, then she could have bet he would be in the restaurant, a few tables over from hers, and by noon she got physically tired of the several almost-meetings with him – in fact, they were not even almost because he was nowhere in sight but the mere knowledge of him staying on the same ship sent chill down her spine. She even slept with the chair by the door so he wouldn't break in the room unnoticed. After all, he had said he would keep an eye on her, and the thought of it alone made her jumpy. The cruiser, that had seemed to be vast just a day before, now aroused feelings very close to claustrophobia. After all, there was nowhere to go from there, no one to run to, the communication was cut off and they wouldn't reach land in days. She had to fight off the panicky thoughts of walls closing in on her.

It wasn't after lunch when the suspicion occurred to her that he might be just as much trying to avoid her as she was avoiding him. Her presence, no doubt, was more than inconvenient for him. This prospect made her relax, and she celebrated it with a huge glass of ice-cream topped with cranberry syrup and a cocktail cherry pierced with a toothpick. If nothing else, the ice-cream here was exquisite.

And just then when she was about to leave the deck, he stepped out of the main corridor. Instinctively, Lisa jumped back with a yelp, startled and alarmed. Rippner looked annoyed, and with a forced, fake-pleasant smile addressed to the people hanging around there he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in a niche. Lisa took a desperate glance over his shoulder but unfortunately nobody paid attention to them any longer.

"Ssh, Leese, calm down. No one is after you, no need to jump into a full-fledged escape whenever we come across," he jerked his head back, indicating the other passengers. "You don't want to draw unnecessary attention on us, do you?"

Lisa, somewhat recuperated, let her gaze fall on the cherry sticking out of the ice-cream, and with a smug half-smirk that very much resembled his trademark smile she sent him a pointed look. "I'm calm."

Rippner followed her gaze, mouth a thin line, and they were both thinking at the same thing. Abruptly he pulled out the toothpick, bolted the cherry, and while chewing angrily, he smashed the pick in his palms and threw the smithereens to the ground with a show.

"Feeling perky?" he fixed her with a glare, gritting his teeth. Lisa smiled at him, satisfied.

"Feeling chirpy," she corrected.

Rippner stared at her for a long minute, examining her face. She tried to suppress a shiver uncoiling in her limbs; she was sure she wouldn't ever be able to get used to those eyes.

"You're not gambling with daddy's life again, are you?" her stomach lurched at his words, and however she tried she flinched as he reached out and almost fondly brushed the hair out of her face. It was an eerie sensation, and a whimper threatened to escape her throat as he brushed over her right ear and softly whispered. "Because you can be chirpy, as long as you behave well no one gets hurt. I think you know the drill, right?"

Lisa grudgingly nodded, trying to get away from his fingers without being too obvious about her intention.

"I like the suntan," he was now practically stroking her cheek, and suddenly she realized, no matter how much this was a part of his twisted mind games, it felt good, and as soon as the feeling registered in her brain she wanted to erase it by taking some kind of a revenge on him.

"Your nose got sunburn," she remarked maliciously, and stared at his face, letting her eyes sweep across it. Now _she was_ scrutinizing him openly, for a change. "And the sun brought out your… _freckles_?" she asked incredulously, with a mocking, comical stare.

Freckle wasn't a word that could be proudly reconciled with some big bad assassin and she wanted to make sure he got it. He looked genuinely abashed and she had to laugh at his unease, surprising even herself that it was devoid of malice. She achieved her purpose though, because his hand fell to his side immediately.

"Their ice-cream is gorgeous, I'd try it if I were you," she even winked at him, feeling pretty much lively as if with the little small talk she could shake off her fear. As she was spooning the dessert she finally realized, seeing his human side with its defects deprived him of the intimidating, inhuman (diabolical, even) image she'd been building about him ever since the hateful flight.

And maybe as a consequence, her curiosity woke up with a start. Up to that moment she hadn't been intrigued as to what he was doing here, what kind of assignment he was trying to accomplish – because he surely wasn't there for indulging in his leisure time.

And suddenly, the tables were turned. This time she was stalking him, or rather, stopped staying hidden and avoiding places he might show up. She was coursing the decks to find him all afternoon, enjoying the rush of adrenaline. After all, taking long walks on the cruiser wasn't anything he could forbid.

She found him long after dinner. She rode the elevator up to the eleventh deck to get a cocktail at the open bar when she got sight of him at the rails. He was with his back to her but she could easily recognize the cocky stance and his lean body. Grinning to herself she sat at the bar, funnily -like in a cheesy detective movie- half behind a pot palm, and had to do a double take as she realized he was with a woman.

Not the surprise, not the view but something awaking within her at the sight caught her off-guard. For a horrifying second she thought it was jealousy. With reeling head, she eventually realized it was hurt. Though deep inside she'd known all along that the little flirtatious chat at the Tex Mex had been the part of the plan, now seeing him pull the same scheme on another woman hurt her more than she'd expected. The hurt of being used, the hurt of not being interesting enough for someone to chat with her just for herself. And the hurt and anger she felt toward herself for falling so easily for his whole play. She was disappointed and it was hard to tell if she was so in herself or in him.

Goggling at them, she could make out his companion. She was - as far as she could determine in the dim light - in her forties, slightly round, dyed hair and with sparkling jewels. Lisa could tell from her body language she was falling for his undeniable and professionally developed -and faked- charm, to say the least, she seemed highly flattered. He was working his way through the older woman's reservation very smoothly with soft smiles and small touches. Lisa found herself watching the scene bitterly: he was good, so very good.

Maybe she just wished to smash this unreasonable bitterness and mend her hurt pride or she only found a companion in misfortune in that unknown woman, anyhow, she decided to snoop around a bit and in the process prevent Jackson from succeeding in his plan as discreetly as she could.

When a half hour later Jackson and his mark were leaving the deck, without any afterthought Lisa rushed after them and slid in the elevator.

"Good evening," she chirped, enjoying Jackson's barely hidden suspicion. The woman smiled at her, while he didn't even nod.

Lisa waited for them to push the bottoms to their respective floors, the woman -up so close she looked a good forty, low-key and mild- choosing "6", and as Jackson hit the bottom for level "7", Lisa, without thinking, reached out and pushed "8". From the corner of her eye she could see him frown and eye her with anew suspicion; he knew very well her lodging was on the fifth deck. She risked an innocent blink toward him, a bold and amused one, being fully aware that he couldn't question her without exposing their acquaintance.

The elevator stopped and she stepped out, immediately turning right. As soon as the elevator doors closed behind her, she dashed along the corridor toward the end of the deck where the stairway led to the other levels. She ran one store down, silently thanking the designers for the round window on the staircase door as she caught a glimpse of Jackson's back just before he disappeared behind a door. She waited a few seconds before stepping out in the corridor and creeping towards his room. She hurried past it -721- and made a quick round back to the elevator before he would discover her. Just when she was back in the safety of her room did she realize that maybe she should have followed the woman instead and told her to stay away from Jackson but the temptation to stalk him was more irresistible. Call it a payback maybe, a form of revenge but whatever it was labeled with, she enjoyed it too much.

* * *

During breakfast next morning Lisa sat at a table in the corner where she could watch the woman hesitantly join Jackson. She frowned as he glanced up and gestured to the free seat, the same smile, same move as what he had provided her back in Texas. She hated him for that, for the hurt it caused within her, and hated the fact that the other woman was already lured just as much as Lisa had been at the Tex Mex. Maybe she was running out of time already.

When the older woman finally stood and left the restaurant, Lisa grabbed her cup of coffee and without asking for permission, joined him at the table. Jackson looked mildly surprised, eyes narrowed.

"Good morning," she smiled at him, placing her elbows on the table and eying him over the rim of her cup.

Jackson's eyebrows couldn't even sink lower. "What do you want?"

Lisa pouted, her heart beating rapidly. She was very much aware she was putting her head into the lion's mouth. "Manners, Jackson! Good morning to you too, Leese."

She was surprised to see the corner of his lips twitch at the bold replay of his previous comment, though the annoyed look was still present on his forehead.

She opted to press her luck a bit by commenting, "I didn't know you have a nick for older women. She could be your mother."

A half-smirk appeared on his lips as he noted, running his gaze along her, "If I didn't know you better, I would think you're jealous."

"You cocky ass," she croaked, horrified as she felt a blush rising to her cheek.

He softly laughed, overly satisfied with himself. Lisa stifled a fine string of curse and decided to gain back control.

"So is she a love interest or a mark?"

He smiled, amused, but didn't answer. Lisa cleared her throat and tried to sound neutral.

"So someone somewhere will die soon?" A shudder crept down her spine at the bizarreness of the topic.

"I don't think it is any of your business," he informed her authoritatively.

Lisa bit her lip, not surprised at the lack of answer. "Is it another assassination? Someone gets hurt?" she was practically pleading with her eyes and this time there was no faking in it. Jackson studied her silently, turning his cup slowly between his fingers.

"Only if she fails to cooperate. If it makes you feel better, this time it is not about getting rid of someone."

Lisa blew out the air she wasn't aware she had been holding and leant back in the chair. She knew it better than to ask what it was then about; he wouldn't tell her. "So how long have you been following her?"

He raised his eyebrow but replied nonetheless, entering into the game willingly but cautiously. "This is the third week."

Lisa was genuinely surprised and for a moment she couldn't find her voice. "How much time it takes to complete an assignment?"

"Feel like applying for a job?" he quipped, and chuckled at her dumbfounded face. "Depends on the assignment. In average I would say two weeks. If it's highly risky or complex, then it might take 4-5 weeks but that's rare."

"Complex?" she blinked, still confused. He misunderstood her expression because added patiently.

"Meaning you need subtle, correct and reliable information that is hard to retrieve, surveillance, taking notes, investigating relationships, monitoring phone calls and all that jazz."

"Then if a 5-week-preparation is highly complex, what do you call me?" she blurted, unable to hold it back. Jackson looked confused.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been following me for eight weeks!"

He glared at her, and she knew she had him with that. She could see his mind working on a way that would get him out of it. He gulped, bit his lower lip, and suddenly he was back in manager mode. "I needed time to get everything necessary to complete the job. That one was an important assignment."

She regarded him, eyebrow slightly raised, letting him know she caught him lying. Maybe it was true in a way but still, not the entire truth. He was lousy at lying, just as much as she was.

"Yeah, right. As far as I remember you said I was terribly boring, my life revolving around my job, blah-blah. You needed eight weeks to check if I would order anything but a fucking Sea Breeze?" A home truth, she knew it was by the way his jaw clenched.

"I don't think I have to explain any of it," and with that he pushed back his chair and stood up to leave.

"I think I have a right to know," she stood too, ready to pursue him, overly intrigued.

He swirled back, gaping at her incredulously. "A right? What are you talking about? You don't have right to anything at all! I answer things I want to answer and you should be grateful if I do."

"You found me interesting eventually?" she didn't know what made her say that, it was more likely a long shot. He stopped on his tracks, though, shoulders tense but didn't turn around.

His voice was a low growl. "Don't push your luck, Leese." And with that, he was gone.

She was standing there, right between two tables and stared at the empty spot that'd been occupied by him just a minute ago. Though she figured she successfully delivered a good kick in his stomach, it terribly felt like she kicked herself too in the process. Was it possible that the scene at the Tex Mex and in the check-in line wasn't part of the plan? Could it be a real interest behind his words?

She shivered. It was clearly something her mind could not and didn't want to process.

* * *

After stalking them all day (she started to get the hang of it), Lisa realized she didn't have too many opportunities to approach the other woman as whenever she could be seen, Jackson was there with her, or if not, then he was in sight. It was already late afternoon when Lisa decided on a letter. She tried to paint an image of Jackson that was repelling enough but didn't reveal too much – she didn't want to risk her Dad's life again. She was scraping down something along the line that how much of a fraud he was, undoubtedly after money, ensnaring lonely rich women, and how everyone should be careful with him. It wasn't a masterpiece but as she read it through she deemed it good enough to make anyone want to stay away from Jackson.

She had to wait almost two hours till Jackson finally walked away, leaving his mark sitting on a deck-chair. As soon as he was out of sight, Lisa put on her sunglasses and a straw hat just to cover as much of her face as possible, and rushed over to the woman, handing over the folded paper.

"Please, read it when you're alone," she whispered hurriedly. The woman looked up, surprised.

"What is this?" She had a slight accent, Spanish or Italian, Lisa wasn't sure which.

"Just read it but make sure you are alone," she emphasized, and watched as she put it in her pocket.

Jackson entered the deck exactly the moment Lisa was about to make a fly for the elevators. He narrowed his eyes at her, lips in a thin white line; she answered with a shaky smile and opted for staying on the other side of the deck to keep an eye on them. Somehow, from the look he had given her, she was sure he _knew_.

There were a few minutes of small talk and light touches; Lisa couldn't help but notice Jackson had sat very close to the woman, knees and thighs brushing, his hand leisurely on her waist. Though he was with his back to Lisa, she could practically see what look he would have in his eyes: a snake's luring, petrifying gaze. And then, he kissed her. Lisa felt her jaw drop, and stared blankly at the scene unfolding. It was a short and light kiss, almost chaste if it weren't a word impossible to be associated with Jackson, then they stood and slowly walked toward the restaurant. Before they disappeared behind the glass doors, Jackson looked back at her, raw annoyance, rage even, steeling his face, and between the fingers of his raised right hand there was her little note. He shook his head menacingly and swiftly slipped it in his hip pocket.

_I am doomed_, Lisa squeaked to herself, pretty certain that he would retaliate it.

Not that she would give up the challenge. It was definitely more exciting than lolling about the deck all day. Right now, though, she voted for skipping the dinner at the restaurant and grabbing something at the open café to stay away from Jackson as long as possible, giving him time to calm down.

* * *

**Note: **_If you happen to wonder about my use of his name, I call him Rippner as long as Lisa fears him (so he is in control, sort of) but after she starts to wriggle, not afraid anymore, and takes over control, I call him Jackson since he starts be more 'human' in her eyes._


	3. Razorblade steps

_**A/N:** Oh, you are all amazing with those comments, thank you so much! I'm utterly surprised -and happy- you seem to like this story:)_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Razorblade steps**

Next morning Lisa was up early (actually, she was so nervous that she couldn't sleep peacefully all night, and had to put the chair back against the door for fear of Jackson), and since she couldn't fall asleep again, she went up to the restaurant for an early breakfast. The place was still half empty, and she was indulging in the moment of peace and rest. She was a bit in dread of meeting him, and all the scenarios he could do to her flooded her mind; choking, hitting, killing. _I have to stay away from deserted places_, she decided.

The restaurant had started to fill up by the time Jackson arrived. Lisa sank lower in her chair and hid behind a menu card as he headed for his usual table and settled down in the chair. Here he couldn't confront her, that was sure. Here she was safe. It was better to get over with it now and there, or taking away the chance of retaliation from him at all. A random idea crossed Lisa's mind, and before she could think it over, she was already on her way to him.

He looked up, alarmed and surprised then immediately displeased, as she dropped her purse on the table and leaned against it. "Hi."

Jackson groaned irritated, taking a quick glance around the other tables. "What the hell do you want again? One would think you want to get as far from me as possible… And actually, you should."

She shrugged, "I'm bored. And you are the only one I know here." Here he gave her a sarcastic laughter, absolutely devoid of humor. "I see you're getting intimate with your… _crush. _You look good together."

"Lisa…" he warned, eyes flashing dangerously, and Lisa had to revalue if it really was a good idea to mention her stunt from yesterday. But as if suddenly he remembered something, he edgily glanced behind to check the entrance. Surely, he didn't want to be caught in chatting with another woman. When he turned back, to her surprise, there was a slight smile on his face. "Your little note amused me. I was surprised to see you didn't describe me as the number one enemy of the country."

"I didn't want that much alarm."

"Very considerate," the humor disappeared from his eyes, and his gaze once again turned cold and calculating. She pulled away her arm quickly as he reached out to grab her wrist. "But when I said not to get cute, sending notes was very much included in that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she waved her hand, and grabbed her purse. Before he could deliver a threat, she turned to leave. "Bon appétit."

Lisa was out in no time and on her way to the elevators. She jumped in, pushed the bottom to deck 7. With a drumming heart she hurried to room 721, smiling slightly at the key card she'd just snatched from his table and swapped with her own. Yeah, she knew she would pay for that but the temptation was unbearable. Maybe checking his room would give her a clue as to what he was up to.

Slowly, shuddering and suppressing a whimper, she entered the room. It was almost identical to her suite, just less untidy. Her skin crawled at the thought of rummaging through Jackson's personal belongings, clothes and all the dubious items he was possibly carrying with him. She was at a loss where to begin and what to search for. Jackson was a professional after all, he wouldn't leave behind traces with a big red X painted on them indicating that they were a clue. In the restaurant she had acted on impulse with no plan in mind.

Then she spotted an open laptop on the bed and leapt to it. It was still on, the screensaver hadn't locked it yet and she crouched beside it with anew excitement. The desktop had only the usual icons, no files saved there. She opened the internet window (bandwidth was almost non-existent) but to her disappointment the history had been cleared. Then she tried the last used documents, opening them one by one but they all required a password. Even the titles weren't telltale, just numbers and letters put together but they made no sense to her.

Lisa almost squealed when she heard a sudden fumbling noise at the door. Her heart almost jumped out of her chest, and she had to calm her breathing before she would hyperventilate. There was a faint chirp, her heart almost stopped because she thought the lock system let them in, then the handle moved but the door didn't budge. Someone -most probably Jackson- tried to get in but failed. She heard him mumbling, or rather cursing, and then the sound of footsteps moving away. She had to get out before he would get hold of a key that worked.

Looking at the laptop one last time, Lisa tried to open the last file and gasped when it didn't ask for a password. It was a picture, and for a minute she stared at it blankly because it was nothing she had prepared herself for. It was a painting, actually, and it was vaguely familiar to her. She tried to recall her History of art studies from high school, maybe she would recognize in which century and school it was painted (Middle Ages, that was sure) but she realized she had no time for it. She closed the file, rushed to the door and swallowed her heart that was threatening to choke her before opening the door slightly. There was no one around, she scurried out and ran to the staircase. Jackson would most probably take the elevators.

Since she couldn't get in her room without the key, the only option was to return to the upper deck and pretend she had been there ever since she left the restaurant. Somehow she was sure Jackson would come and search for her. And the first time ever since she jumped into this little detective game, the fear returned.

She had been there at least for a half hour, though, leaning against the rail and reflecting on the painting, and he was nowhere to be seen. She started to doubt her logic; maybe he didn't figure out why his card stopped working, after all her name shouldn't have been the first possible answer to that kind of problem. She yelped as a sharp pain shot through her arm, and before she could even blink she was shoved hard up against the wall behind a huge life-buoy, half-hidden from other passengers wandering around the deck.

"Are you mental?" she snapped, gaping at Jackson's stone-cold face. It was obvious he only barely contained the anger that was raging behind his eyes. Her stomach convulsed with fear at the sight; he looked pretty much like he had back in her father's house.

He grabbed her shoulders and ignored her protests. "When was the last time you entered your room?"

Lisa blinked at him, momentarily taken aback by the question, and she was glad the surprise and confusion spreading on her face were genuine. She hadn't expected the question. "When… what… what are you talking about?"

"You know, Lisa, a very funny thing has just happened to me," he leaned close to her ear, hissing with venom. "When I tried to get in my room, the key wouldn't let me."

"Oh," she blinked again, trying to appear like her mind was working on the problem. "You should have the reception check it. And then fill in a comment card."

Now it was his turn to blink at her, and Lisa could barely hold back the laughter at the inside joke. Jackson pressed his lips together and quickly recovered.

"I have. And you know what the reception told me? That it was your key I was trying to get in with… How's that, Lisa? How come I have your key and probably you have mine?" he was staring at her with an intimidating look, and Lisa didn't find the situation funny anymore. She tried to think of an answer where she didn't have to lie because she surely was lousy in it when Jackson, finally losing patience, shook her. "You got in my room, that's what?"

Lisa managed to stare at him quite indignantly, and huffed, "Your room is the last place I'd want to be!"

And it was true but still it wasn't an answer. To her surprise, Jackson let it drop with a gaze that pretty much told her he exactly knew the truth. His hand slid down her arm and snaked behind her back. She jumped when they disappeared in her hip pockets, pulling out the key card. He pocketed it and held hers out. She cautiously took it and put it away. Unable to meet his eyes, her gaze dropped. She blinked and focused and blinked again, and before she realized her index finger reached out and touched the little raw scar at the base of his throat almost against her own will. The contact was soft and light like she was stroking it, feeling the uneven tissue but Jackson, completely flabbergasted, jerked away from her.

"You like your handwork?" he growled, still taken aback by her move.

"Yep." The answer slipped without her approval, and in a rush to correct it before he would lash out she asked the most ridiculous question that came to her mind first. "Did it hurt?"

Even she flinched how stupid it sounded, but it came out so softly that for a second Jackson looked rather perplexed than angry.

"No, it was a fucking orgasm."

She gulped, feeling a blush color her face, and went for examining a wrinkle on his polo shirt; rather that than looking at him. There was a long silence, Lisa could feel his relentless gaze on her, attempting to bare her thoughts. He moved in closer again, violating her personal space and challenging her to look up. Unwillingly, Lisa raised her head, and when he was sure he had her attention he whispered:

"You keep this up, Leese," his hands were again on her arms, sliding up and down slowly, caressing, stroking the skin like a lover would do, but his face had such a stern edge that she could hardly keep her eyes on him. "And you will accidentally fall in the ocean. Don't want me to get violent."

He said it in a way as if he was reluctant to hurt her but she knew it better: he'd never hesitated if it came to regulate her. She didn't answer immediately, mostly because she guessed there was only one answer to that threat, and he raised his hand to her cheek, fingers sliding across her cheekbones, brushing the jaw line, close, so close to her neck, to her windpipe. She gulped and nodded.

"Okay," she managed in a low voice. Jackson's eyes pierced into hers for an endless moment, he then nodded and left without a word.

* * *

Lisa spent the day and the next with activities she had abandoned ever since she ran into Jackson. She didn't want to piss him off again, so she let the case rest a bit. However she tried to enjoy the spa or her books though, all she could think of was what Jackson had to do with that woman. The only clue she had was the painting but even that was very dubious. Maybe it was just coincidence and had nothing to do with the case, maybe it was his favorite painting (here she laughed a bit for Jackson never seemed to be one to keep classical paintings on his laptop just for artistic indulgences, especially not one with religious content). It annoyed her to no end.

It was the next afternoon when surfing through the channels on the TV (still snow, snow and the half-static FOX News) that she finally remembered. The painting on Jackson's laptop was the 'Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence', the lost-and-found Caravaggio that would be revealed on an exhibition in Rome in less than a week.

And with that, everything clicked in place. Though she planned to go to Barcelona, the destination of the ship was Rome. The accent she caught when talking to the woman was definitely Latin, now she was sure it was Italian. And the Caravaggio was in Rome. Jackson had stated he wasn't there to organize someone's death but never in her wildest dreams would she have assumed he was after a painting.

Shocked that something so unique would be stolen or worse in a few days without anyone even suspecting it, she plunged into forging new ideas to prevent it. She couldn't inform anyone without risking her and her family's lives, and though she didn't know what the woman's role was in this whole scheme, it was obvious she had to separate her from Jackson. She could have attempted to inform her again about Jackson's dangerous side but she wasn't sure it would work. Maybe his deception was too strong around her, and Jackson appeared even more alert since the key card accident anyway. When he wasn't around the woman, Lisa was sure he was keeping an eye on her. She'd run into him at various places, even in the corridor leading to the pools, and she was terrified at the thought that he might have entered the spa when she had been there.

She resumed the surveillance, and the evening rewarded her with a lucky turn of events when at the cocktail bar she witnessed as the Italian woman accidentally spilled her drink on her dress. Lisa overheard as she excused herself and left Jackson to get changed.

Lisa rose to dash after her but a sudden hesitation stopped her. Instead, she surprised herself by stepping to the counter and occupying the seat next to Jackson.

He looked over at her and groaned. "Are you stalking me, Lisa?"

"I've heard a proverb from a Hungarian guest at the Lux: the hangman is being hanged. I think it sums up your situation pretty much," she smiled, enjoying the way his eyebrow twitched. As the barman leaned to her, she ordered with a sweet yet provoking smile that was actually addressed to Jackson. "A _Bay_ Breeze, please."

Jackson stared at her, and rolled his eyes with a hint of smile on his lips. "What a revenge! Are you sure? I'd think you're a Sea Breeze type."

"Always so confident. And wrong."

When she got her drink, she moved to clink their glasses together. She had to fight the gulp down her throat because the déjà vu feeling frightened and saddened her at the same time. They had taken a very long road from the peaceful talk at the Tex Mex, and now she realized, shame or not, how much she missed that moment.

"Pleasant memories?" he smirked but the sarcastic edge, if ever intended, was missing from his voice. "Should we start it again from the beginning, introduction, hand shake, hello-hello-nice-to-meet-you?"

"Like it can be undone." Lisa averted her gaze and drank more of the cocktail, wishing that along with it she could swallow her hurt too.

"If you want, we can try," his smile was teasing and challenging her with a hint of warmth behind it, and suddenly Lisa couldn't decide if he was mocking her or actually meant it seriously. Thus she opted for changing the subject.

"So how is it going with her?"

Jackson sighing, let her drop it, and took a sip from his whiskey. "It'll be over soon. Good riddance."

"I take it you don't like her."

"She is intelligent but still quite boring."

"For you who's not, Jackson?" she snorted a bit sourly. Jackson watched her curiously. The faint overhead lights of the bar cast shadows at his face, his eyes hidden as the ocean breeze swept his hair in his forehead, and still, Lisa felt how intense his gaze was.

He smiled, a bit of challenge on his lips again and reluctant amusement. "You? You were not boring. With all that fight you put up."

She blinked at him, and if she could she would have hidden in her own glass as she let it slip from her lips, "You know what the worst is? That you were the most interesting man I've met in the last five years."

She didn't dare look at him in the short silence that followed. "So you say you can't forget me?" he asked finally, the smile obvious in his voice.

She had to inwardly kick herself to say it and remind herself of the half-plan she was to follow. "I'm afraid that's the case."

"You're aware, Lisa, that it sounds ambiguous, right?" he leaned closer, trying to make her look at him.

She was watching him from the corner of her eyes, and whimpered at his closeness as well as her own words. "It _is_ ambiguous, yes."

They didn't move, shared a long scrutinizing stare, trying to map the other's intentions, and as the seconds ticked away mercilessly, Lisa closed the gap between them. She shut down her mind because it seemed to be in overdrive at the fact that she was kissing the man who had tried to kill her, and forced her body not to recoil from the touch of his lips. It was a short kiss -rather a peck on the lips- but the longest she could extrude from her system. She retreated slightly and risked a glance at him. She had never before seen him so dumbfounded, lips frozen in a half-open gape, only his eyes moved, trying to read her thoughts, trying to gain control again.

"I'm sorry," Lisa mumbled, still leant close. "It must be the Bay Breeze." And she welcomed the blush she knew appeared on her face.

He was still staring at her, pondering, evaluating, guessing maybe if a blush could be faked, and then whispered:

"Yeah, right. And I'm sorry, it must be the Scotch."

His kiss was nothing like hers. It wasn't timid, chaste or shy; he gripped her hips and leaned even closer, tilting his chair, and kissed her hard with the force of a man who would take what was offered to him. This time her brain shut down by itself. The sensation and the fight within her were overwhelming and exhausting. To say that Lisa was enjoying would have been an overstatement. She didn't really pay attention to that part. She was engaged in analyzing the details, collecting the little pieces as if she wanted to reserve them for a future examination to compare it with whatever it could be compared: his stubble scratched the sensitive skin on her chin, his scent was musky and sweet-sour and she was sure she would never be able to wash it off, and he tasted of alcohol and something that the part of her brain that was still working labeled as 'Jackson'.

To say that Jackson seemed to be enjoying himself would have been the understatement of the year. Or at least that was the conclusion she drew when a loud snap reached her ears but didn't seem to affect him.

"Bastardo!" That finally made him pull away from Lisa just in time to see his mark leave the deck hurriedly.

"Oops!" Lisa gasped theatrically, finally coming back to her senses. She was utterly surprised it had worked, it was more like a gamble, taking her chances that based upon nothing but a faint assumption that he might have been interested in her beyond the Keefe job, and all this because he evaded to answer her when she had asked him about it, but inside she wouldn't think for a second that he would really kiss her back. She had prepared herself for his snicker, a humiliating retort, anything but this overwhelming…_passion._

Jackson, still frozen in a stance halfway out of his chair as he'd wanted to dash after the Italian woman, right hand still on Lisa's thigh, now focused his attention back on her, his vision slowly clearing.

"That… you _planned_ this…?" he stumbled across the words, and when a bashful yet defiant smile crossed her lips, his face contorted in anger and something that pretty much resembled hurt.

"Revenge?" she batted her eyelashes, snickering innocently.

_We are even now_, she thought contentedly but immediately wiped off the satisfied look as he grabbed her shoulders. He wasn't one who would just let her hurt his ego and walk away with that. If nothing else, the violence he squeezed her arm with made it very clear.

"What kind of revenge is that, Lisa? Probably I enjoyed it more than you!" he hissed.

She lifted her chin, and somehow it slipped from her lips, "Don't be so sure."

Now _that_ was ambiguous. She abruptly stood, shaking off his hands and glanced at him. She felt bold, adrenaline running the last lapses in her veins, and she reached out and patted his cheek. "Thanks for the quickie."

And before he could grab her and squeeze the life out of her right then and there, she fled for her room.

Mission was accomplished but she'd never suspected she would be left with a natural disaster of emotions.


	4. Retaliation, sort of

**A/N:** And here is the last chapter. I know the story was kinda short and originally I planned to include some scenes in Barcelona because I loved visiting that city but finally I decided against it on account of a new story I really want to write. This one was only a little light practice of sort, nothing serious and I guess not even consistent with the film, not from emotional point of view at least.

And you are wonderful! Thank you so much for the comments, they make my little heart bounce with joy:)

And since we are close to year end: Happy Holidays to all of you!

* * *

**Chapter 4: Retaliation, sort of**

Lisa was jolted awake by the sudden realization that in the turmoil of the previous days she had completely forgotten that they were finally going to reach land after several days at sea. She jumped out of bed and got dressed with happily dancing heart. She was relieved to be able to leave the ship, even if they could spend only a few hours at the Canary Islands before sailing off toward Spain, then Italy.

It also meant that finally she could use the internet and phone again to contact her family.

She suddenly froze. Here was the opportunity to inform someone about Jackson's plan. Of course, she couldn't call the cops, or not sending them after Jackson, but maybe she could somehow alert the museum security to be on guard and watch over the Caravaggio. She didn't want to think of the show she had performed the previous night or what consequence it had, especially didn't want to remember the various images that had run through her mind during the hours she had been so desperately trying to fall asleep last night. The events at the bar had upset her beyond expectation but right now it was the last thing she wanted to ruminate over.

There was a faint knock on the door, and she leapt there to open it. Only when the door was already ajar did she realize she hadn't asked who it was. It turned out a big mistake when, to prevent the door to get slammed in his face, Jackson quickly put his foot in the opening.

"Hello Lisa," he pushed in the door and closed it behind him.

"What do you want?" Lisa backed away slightly, eying him scoldingly.

"Dropping by. Just as I promised." He positioned himself between her and the door, and Lisa had the idea the time had come when he would get violent. Jackson buried his hands in the pockets, a disapproving frown on his face. "Your little stunt last night forces me to take the ugly way. She doesn't speak to me so now I have to intimidate her, force her to do what I say. Then she will be having a hissy fit. She won't put up a fight like you did but there will be a lot of pleading and crying and all that shit I hate, and it makes me very angry and now she might get hurt," he glared at her, wedging in a dramatic pause. "And all of this because of you being a smart-ass."

"Jackson…" Lisa started, unsure what exactly she wanted to tell him.

As he took a casual step toward her, she turned and bolted for the bathroom. Before she could slam the door shut, he was already in, closing her in a vise-like grip from behind, pinning her arms to her body.

"Let me go," Lisa pounded with her foot to trample on his but missed it. At the feeling of him pressing against her snapped something in her mind and she frantically squirmed in his arms. Was he really going to throw her over the rail? Or kill her and shut her body in a closet? Or something equally worse that only his sick assassin mind could come up with?

"Don't fight me, Lisa," he hissed in her ear, lifting her slightly as if for emphasis. When she didn't listen, Jackson shook her, his voice calm and reasonable but somewhat intent. "Stop fighting, I won't hurt you. Can you hear me?"

Suddenly his right hand flew up to her mouth and covered it with something soft. She thrashed harder, and just when the sweet scent of chloroform registered in her brain and the whole world blackened, she decided with a last coherent thought that becoming unconscious this way was undoubtedly better than with a head-butt.

* * *

Lisa was regaining consciousness step by step, dragging herself up to the surface. Grumbling, she slowly opened her eyes to a dim room. The curtains were drawn but judging by the angle of light and the lucidity she guessed it was already early afternoon. After trying to sit up, she gradually realized she couldn't move her limbs. A moment of confusion poured on her before she remembered what had happened. Only when she tried to curse Jackson Rippner and all his ancestors under her breath she found she wasn't able to.

Groaning in frustration, Lisa turned her head, fixing the ceiling with a glare. She was gagged, her wrists and ankles tied together behind her back, contorting her body in a quite inconvenient way. A faint throbbing in her right arm told her she had been injected with something. At least, he had the decency and didn't leave her lying on the bathroom floor but the same thought sent her stomach south. To put her on the bed, he had to bring her in his arms (or drag her across the floor but somehow she doubted he had done so), and it was such a disturbing image that she pushed it away immediately for the sake of her sanity.

She groaned again and assessed her situation. There was no way she could ask for help, all she could do was working on the knot. She assumed -and as it turned out later, she assumed it right- it wouldn't be a piece of cake.

* * *

A few hours and broken nails later she could finally get out of the bundle of ropes and the room. By that time the ship had already left the port and was back on open water. She was devastated and enraged that Jackson had robbed her of the possibility to go on shore and see the Canary Islands. Though she pretty much wanted to take her anger out on him, she was sure he had already left the ship after assumingly accomplishing his devious plans and was already on his way back to the States or wherever it was safe for him. Therefore, she was surprised to find him on the deck, leaning on the rail with his elbows like he really was on holiday.

"I see you're out, Houdini," he smiled at her as if she had been only taking an afternoon nap in her suite which he had nothing to do with. "I planned to check on you later. I figured you needed to rest a bit."

"You asshole," Lisa hissed, hands balled into fists and she had to fight the urge to punch him in the nose in front of half of the passengers. "Because of you I missed the Islands!"

"You mean because of _you_. You can't say I hadn't warned you," he folded his arms over his chest and looked annoyingly smug. "But don't worry, I took some pictures for you."

Lisa, very wisely, chose to tune out his remark, otherwise, she was sure, it would have ended very ugly. Jackson, unmistakably sensing she was seething inside, added with the perpetual complacent fleer.

"Besides, I couldn't let you run to the first police station and tell them about the manifestation of Evil on the ship."

"We agreed I wouldn't do that, Jackson!" Lisa huffed, chasing back the fact to the depth that the idea had indeed crossed her mind.

"Yeah, right but I don't trust you. You've been fighting me every freaking step again without a phone or internet within reach," he sounded just as much irritated as a bit enthralled. "I figured all the miracles of communication becoming available again would be too tempting for you. So I took a little precaution."

"Shove your precautions you know where!" she grumbled through clenched teeth.

"What a profanity. I'm stunned, Leese," Jackson chuckled at her. "By the way, Dad says hi. He is fine and very happy that your holiday turned out wonderful."

Lisa gaped at him, flabbergasted. "What?"

He sent her a cocky yet innocent grin that boiled her blood instantly. "I texted him so he wouldn't be worried out of his skin. You can't say I'm not considerate."

"You are a jerk, that's what you are!"

"I knew you'd be thankful."

Lisa could just stare at him, trying to master the ability to kill with a simple glare. She could tell he was in good mood, and the only explanation of it clenched her heart.

"Why are you still here? I thought you'd leave the ship as soon as we reach land."

"I wanted to but then decided it was safer to keep an eye on you two as long as possible."

Lisa took a frantic look around, suddenly remembering. "Where is she? What did you do to her?"

"Chill, Leese. She is in her room, safe and sound."

She remained silent for a moment, contemplating if she should push it and finally deciding it was over anyway. "What did she have to do? A phone call? Something on the internet?"

Jackson regarded her, maybe weighing the pros and cons of answering. She was in no position to make anything undone right now, they both knew it. "Both. Change a password."

Lisa looked at him bewildered. "A password?"

"A security code," Jackson shrugged, gazing over the ocean. Lisa bit her lip and decided on putting her cards on the table.

"To the Caravaggio?"

Jackson's head snapped up and he gaped at her undeniably entranced. "Lisa, you never cease to amaze me."

Eager to ignore both the appreciation and the feelings it evoked in her, she frowned. "Jackson, you cannot steal a unique painting like that!"

"I'm here, Leese. I'm not stealing anything," he was using a tone as if he was talking to a child. He was so annoying and he didn't even have to put any effort in it.

"You know how I meant it," Lisa growled. "Isn't this under high security? How can you just so easily steal it?"

"Easily? It's not easy, Leese. It _is_ under high security. Only two persons have the access to the vault. She is the curator, she's one of them."

She glared at him accusingly, "She must be beyond grief."

"It's not only about that, Lisa. You really don't want to know it in details, but it's more about a shitload of money. Beside illegal art trade it's all about gambling and insurance fraud and all that stuff."

"I don't give a damn about the money part. It's just… immoral. I mean it's art, it's public domain. You cannot just take it and shut it away from people."

He laughed at her. "Don't act like it's not happening all the time, Leese. Come on, how many famous paintings are hanging on the walls of luxurious homes? Rich people collect paintings like you collect coffee spoons."

Lisa didn't know if she should be indignant at his tone or more at the fact that he knew she collected spoons. "But this one has just been found after so many years! Everyone's waiting to see it. No one has the right to hang it in their living room. Not this one."

"So you say if you had the chance to have it all to yourself, you wouldn't be tempted to put it on your wall?"

She didn't even hesitate with the answer. "Of course, I wouldn't. I would hand it over to a museum immediately."

"Uh-huh," he nodded, clearly unconvinced, a smug smirk playing on his face which irritated her even more than his words.

"You know it'd been an altar piece in a church?" she remarked, a pout on her lips.

"And? Is there a separate circle in Hell for those stealing paintings from the Church?" he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He looked very young then, the afternoon sun drawing ginger stripes in his hair, and Lisa realized with increasing irritation that he had an innocent, almost angelic (huh, how _ironic_) touch to his face, making him eerily handsome.

She could only blink. There was no way she could convince a man who organized murders of people on daily basis that stealing an art treasure was wrong.

"You wanted to see it, too?" he asked, a hint of smile still lingering on his face. Lisa shrugged.

"It crossed my mind. I would visit Rome anyway, so it was just sensible."

"You're going to Rome?"

"Right now I plan to disembark in Cartagena, then take a train to Barcelona. My plane leaves from Rome though."

"Quite a trip. You're gonna love those cities," he nodded, still regarding her intensely, leaning with his back against the rails casually. She returned his gaze with a bit more hostility.

"I will if you don't show up again."

"You could use a tour guide. I'm quite familiar with these places."

"Don't even think of it! I run into you again and I'll call the Interpol and the Scotland Yard and the FBI and all the other three-letter organizations."

"Okay," he nodded, hiding a smile. "If you change your mind, I'll be here till we reach Malaga. Then we say goodbye."

"I'll cry my eyes out," she mumbled.

Jackson reached out and before she could recoil, he touched a tress, smoothing it slowly between his fingers, curling it, winding it around his forefinger. There was a soft, alien look on his face that left Lisa with a tingling stomach.

"No need for that. Just say yes," he said softly, the smile on his lips honest and devoid of smugness. He was regarding her from behind half-closed lids, giving a lazy but enraptured look to his eyes.

Lisa gulped, suddenly feeling goosebumps flooding her skin. Somehow she was more afraid of this side of him than the intimidating, cool exterior -and interior, too- he usually displayed. He looked deceptive. Deceptively beautiful. Yeah, that too, she had to admit it.

"I'd rather bite off my tongue, you know," she said finally, less hostile than intended though. But at least she gained her purpose and he snapped out of the strange trance with a smooth transition between that and the confident air that always surrounded him.

"Don't miss the catacombs in Rome," he remarked lightly. Lisa couldn't help but shudder.

"How surprising you'd recommend a place like that. You killed someone in there?"

Jackson laughed whole-heartedly. "Yeah, like 2,000 years ago. It's full of their bones."

She chuckled. The way he laughed was almost endearing. "Amazing. Then it's about time you retire."

When she got back to her room that evening, she had to do a double take at the clock and make the calculation twice because it was unbelievable that she had just spent more than two hours with small talking to Jackson Rippner about various innocent topics, and shameful as it was, in a way she actually enjoyed it.

* * *

Next afternoon Lisa was watching the brown-white buildings beyond the port of Malaga from the deck. Finally she could see the land after twelve days of nothing but the ocean surrounding her. They would reach Cartagena in less than a day, and then she wouldn't sail for a very long time if she could help it. Not that it was a horrible experience, but she had to be honest to herself and admit it wouldn't have been half as exciting as it turned out if it wasn't for Jackson's sudden reappearance and the Sherlock Holmes adventure she was busy with.

She spun around as she felt a presence lingering behind her. Jackson was standing there, bag in one hand, the other sinking in his pants pocket.

"Though you weren't a good girl, I'll be generous and give it back to you." With that, he handed back her cell phone she had absolutely forgotten about. Lisa grabbed it from his fingers and quickly pocketed it after taking a suspicious look at the screen.

They were quite lamely standing there in silence, Lisa fixating on an invisible spot on the floor somewhere beside Jackson who was obviously fighting a smile again. He made her look up by touching her loose lock and brushing it behind her left ear, the cocky grin again in place.

"No need to say, Leese, I know you're gonna miss me."

"You're delusional."

Ignoring her stare, he leaned in and whispered against her earlobe, "But don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you."

Before it could register in her brain, he planted a gentle kiss on her neck, just below the jaw-bone. Lisa jerked away, rendered almost speechless by both of his words and act. Her brain screamed that it didn't want any more stalking, any other chance meetings and definitely no tingling stomach. They equally freaked her out.

"You… you… bastard!"

Before she could think it through, she charged at him, grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him against the wall, once, twice, shaking him. She heard a muffled thump as the back of his head slightly banged on the hardwood wall, missing a life-buoy just by a half foot. He had dropped the bag and now it lay abandoned by their feet. She looked up at him, still a fistful of shirt in her hands. Jackson was staring at her, his lips slightly departed with a mixture of amusement, anticipation and surprise, and she hated him for that look.

Later Lisa wanted to describe the upcoming events by stating he had fallen against her but this explanation had its own flaws. Anyway, as she was grabbing him by the shirt, keeping him in place, he suddenly gave up resistance and with the force of her pull he plastered against her, leg to leg, waist to waist, mouth to mouth. His lips were so soft, so incredibly warm that Lisa almost lost her grip on him. The sweetly painful scratch of his stubble against her chin, the slightly moist smoothness of his lips, his taste and masculine, sultry scent, the feeling of him were overwhelming. It took Jackson only a second to kiss back and when he did it, it was elemental. This time, though, unlike back at the bar two days before, Lisa was matching his desire with her own. She willingly tilted her head and let him devour her, eagerly pulling him even closer. In the flip-flops she was significantly shorter than Jackson, and as he enclosed her in his arms, Lisa couldn't help but realize how good it felt, being in the arms of a man; so far she hadn't even suspected she'd missed the feeling. The shock of being kissed by him of all men in the world was now subdued maybe because it had happened before and it wasn't some kind of a numbing breaking news in her mind.

Finally, he pulled away slightly to gaze at her face, and she felt triumphant because the smug smile she hated so much was nowhere to be seen. His hot breath caressed her cheek, and she couldn't meet his gaze too long because the intensity of those blue eyes sent ripples of shameful excitement through her traitorous body, and suddenly she was self-conscious under his gentle, intimate scrutiny.

"Mmm, I'm almost tempted to stay," he whispered huskily, arms attempting to merge their bodies. Lisa caught herself absentmindedly playing with the neckline of his golf shirt, so she retreated her fingers, curled them into balls as if to shut them away from temptation.

"Don't be," she croaked less harshly than intended, and as if he could notice it, Jackson leant in again and captured her lips in a playful yet lascivious kiss, setting on fire everything that had still been intact within her, and it was frightening that someone like him could achieve it. She gave him a little bite and he recoiled, twitching as he touched a finger to his lower lip.

"You bit me?" he asked incredulously, a half-bewildered, half-amused smirk present on his face.

"Yeah, suck it up," she said smugly, and was quite amazed that a second later he was bold enough to risk his tongue be bitten too. He tasted heavenly, the bastard. Lisa placed a palm on his chest and, inside a bit reluctantly, pushed him away. "Now sod off."

"Fine," Jackson consented, his eyes glinting mischievously. "But you know we'll talk."

And before she could retaliate, he winked at her, grabbed his bag and left without a look back.

Lisa had already reached Barcelona by the time she learnt the Caravaggio had mysteriously disappeared despite the high security around it and wouldn't be available for the upcoming exhibition in Rome. The police were investigating but for the moment they groped about in the dark. Lisa thought of informing them of Jackson but for some reason decided against it. He was like a ghost, there was no sense in trying at all. Fortunately (or unfortunately, sometimes it was hard to tell) he didn't show up again during her stay in Europe; maybe he was watching her from a distance but Lisa didn't want to even think about that possibility.

She was already back in Miami when the newspapers were full of the story again as the suspect of the Caravaggio-case got arrested. It turned out the registrar at the museum in Rome got involved in insurance fraud and the traffic of the famous painting to a member of the Mafia. It launched a chain reaction with a lot of investigation, mysterious murders and arrests but the painting got lost once again. Of course, Jackson Rippner's name had never once occurred in the news.

* * *

**Three weeks later**

Being back in the rut was just as much of a relief as a bit tedious after her long holiday. Lisa was told she looked fabulous and she indeed felt that way; during her journey she got rid of the stress and with a lot of sleep and relaxation she was ready to face whatever the customers would pour on her at the Lux.

A FedEx parcel arrived one day, a more than six feet long cylindrical package wrapped in cardboard case. When she tore off the paper and plastic binding, a little handwritten note fell on the floor. There was no signature, only one line:

"_Would look good beside that cherry dresser."_

Puzzled, she looked up at the dresser in her living room and the single pot plant beside it. There was quite a space between the chest and the window, that was true but what this message meant was still an enigma.

As she started to unroll the item, she immediately realized what it was. She gasped incredulously because it was surreal: in her little apartment, in her own hands, there it was, tattered, torn and a bit faded. The Nativity by Caravaggio. The real one. And it was beautiful, and right now it was only hers. At this thought she abruptly looked up at the wall indicated in the note, and growled anxiously at the challenge hidden in the message, at the unwritten 'now go ahead and show me what you would do'. She could almost see in her mind's eye that infamous self-assured grin accompanying the note.

Finally, she shook her head, and laughed. "Damn you, Jackson Rippner."

_The End_

* * *

**So thanks again for the comments, I'm happy you liked this story. If you are interested in something a bit more emotionally analytic and hopefully accurate (and actually less light and more serious), then stay tuned, I'm already working on a new RE story called 'Uprooted'. It'll be up in January.**


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